


When a Dwarf Braids a Hobbit

by Greatwidesomewhere



Series: Shameless [1]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: During The Hobbit, Dwalin & Thorin Oakenshield Friendship, Dwalin Is A Softie, Dwarf & Hobbit Cultural Differences, Dwarf Courting, Dwarf Culture & Customs, Dwarf Culture Porn, Dwarf metaphors make no sense to hobbits, Dwarf/Hobbit Relationship(s), Hair, Hair Braiding, Hobbit Culture & Customs, M/M, Misunderstandings, Oblivious Bilbo, Protective Dwalin, Rare Pairings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-05
Updated: 2018-09-05
Packaged: 2019-07-07 05:27:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15901806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Greatwidesomewhere/pseuds/Greatwidesomewhere
Summary: It had started slowly, but it had begun well before the incident with the trolls.Bilbo was his One. He hadn’t told anyone. Just, kept as close as he could. Without anyone getting suspicious. It would be a scene and a half if anyone noticed.





	When a Dwarf Braids a Hobbit

**Author's Note:**

> Enjoy this little oneshot!

It had started slowly, but it had begun well before the incident with the trolls.

Bilbo was his One. He hadn’t told anyone. Just kept as close as he could. Without anyone getting suspicious. It would be a scene and a half if anyone noticed.

Bilbo was returning his bowl from supper. Hobbits sure must have larger appetites than Dwarrow it seemed. But then, his pantry had been a thing worthy of song. Even Erebor’s treasure troves couldn’t compare to that haul!

Bilbo grinned up at Bombur as he passed off his bowl, and the obliging chef scooped a serving from the scraping of the pot for the tiniest member of their company.

For he was tiny. Fragile, yet woven with steel, and wit, for his cunning with the trolls.

A tiny conundrum.

Good thing Balin liked puzzles.

 

~~~***~~~

Balin’s affection only grew for the Hobbit when he saw his rosy-cheeked delight at the libraries and gardens of Imladris.

It wasn’t bad, as far as eleven halls went. It was surrounded by mountains on all sides. Aside from the great bloody bit of sky overhead, it was almost fortified. But, the gardens did resemble the green of the shire to an extent.

Balin took in the landscaping with new appreciation. He could see what joy Bilbo might take from the organized madness that grew there, checked by the magic of the Elves.

Balin took the effort to mention such thoughts when the opportunity arose naturally. Bilbo smiled but sadly and shook his head. “My mother visited here. It is a little haunting to be in her footsteps after these many years. But...the gardens, as you said, are full of Elven magic. Nothing grows as it should at all.”

Was that a disparaging remark from the polite Hobbit? Balin felt his eyebrows rise on their own.

“That bush there, it is meant to be shaped as you will. But the flowers below it? They wouldn’t grow there with so little sunlight and the tree besides, leaching all the good water! And those lilies!” Balin allowed Bilbo to guide him through the gardens, chastising the unnatural order of the plants, divulging just why the placement was wrong for sunlight here, or why so little water would be needed there, and so forth.

It was the most pleasant day in the whole of their stay in the house of Lord Elrond. Balin apologized to Bilbo, claiming ignorance of his craft.

“My craft? No, my dear Balin, I’m no master gardener. But any Hobbit worth his salt knows more than this!”

My dear Balin. It had been an easy phrase, tumbling off the tongue in frustration over Elvish magic spoiling the garden. A friendly endearment. Nothing more.

~~~***~~~

Balin’s heart was pounding in his ears. He couldn’t get his voice to work. His One. And his King. And his brother. All three had nearly gone over the edge. But Bilbo had been first.

And Balin had already feared him dead with Dwalin when the giant’s knee slammed into the mountainside. But he had laid eyes on Dwalin and looked for Bilbo, to see small fingers gripping the stone edge of the cliff. He’d nearly choked on his heart then.

And it was Bofur who acted first, Bofur to whom Balin was going to give the largest rubies he could find from the treasury in recognition of the blood he stopped from being spilt, the life-debt Balin owed him. It was Thorin who stepped in the moment it became obvious Bofur wasn’t going to be enough. And It was Dwalin who held Thorin steady when the uncrowned King had nearly dropped, Hobbit in hand.

Mahal, Balin needed a drink.

For the moment, he needed to calm his fingers. He shoved Dwalin to a seat on the sandy floor and pulled his comb out. Dwalin, accustomed to Balin’s worry, allowed his beard to be braided. The adrenaline was still thrumming in Balin’s fingers when he was finished. So he turned to look over to Thorin. Fill and Kill were near him, soothing their own heartsicknesses.

Balin looked over at Bilbo. It was too soon, far too soon but… And then he caught sight of the ache in Bilbo’s eyes. Balin was on his feet in a moment, but held himself back. Bilbo had rolled over, turning his back to Balin and curling up in his bedroll.

Oh.

“S’not a rejection.” Balin’s eyes darted to Dwalin, “The lad hasn’t seen anything for the past hour. Still stuck on the cliffside in his head, I think. He’s not saying you no, not really.”

“And why do you think I’d be worrying over rejection?” Balin fought to see his voice steady.

Dwalin snorted, "You had to unweave a courtship braid three times before you remembered how to braid my beard to calm your stress,” Balin looked down at his traitorous fingers woefully, “Unless,” Dwalin drawled, “you’ve a terrible secret to confess, brother mine? Is your heart not with the halfling, but—“

“Hobbit.” Balin interrupted Dwalin’s teasing. “He’s asked to be called a Hobbit; said the other is rude. I surmise it is similar to our disdain for ‘naugrim’.”

Dwalin grunted, then nodded, “Hobbit, then. Am I to have one for a brother?”

Balin glared at his taller, younger brother before opening his pack and preparing his own bedroll. He kept his eyes on Bilbo until he slept.

And then he woke as the floor collapsed under them.

The chaos of the tumble into the goblin trap was undignified, painful, and terrifying in that order. Balin hit the floor of the trap first, and caught several elbows, axe-handles, and pots to various portions of his anatomy in the process.

Hearing Bilbo’s exclamation as he landed on the pile of dwarves washed that away into the shock of battle.

Balin drew his blades and found them removed from his hands even as he blinked at the bright and spinning lights-torches?-of the goblins that led them along an endless wooden bridge.

~~~***~~~

“Wheres Bilbo?” The words were out before he could censure them, but Balin didn’t care. They’d made it out in Gandalf’s wake, but the last member of their company wasn’t among their number.

The rest either glanced about as they fought to catch their breath or called out as well.

“Bilbo?” Dwalin moved to stand near his brother, and placed a hand on his shoulder, giving a short squeeze.

“Here!” Called a sweet voice. Balin’s knees turned to jelly. And then Bilbo spoke of homes, and quests, and companies and Balin’s chest puffed out with pride as his One spoke to his King, claiming their quest as truly his own for the first time.

There was a warmth that spread, like butter on a roll fresh from the oven, from Balin’s heart to his arms, and seemed to affect his smile in an odd way.

And then they heard the cries of wargs.

~~~***~~~

The flight on Eagle-back would have been the most exhilarating and wonderful moment of Balin’s life, except for the lack of control. He’d not been in charge of every component of his life, but he typically could control better how close his feet were to the ground, or how swiftly he was moving than this. He caught his fingers tangling in the feathers of the bird who bore him as they instinctively tried to braid.

He clenched his eyes shut but that just made everything worse. He turned his attention to the company around them. Thorin, limp in the claws of the largest eagle, was in front. Then Dwalin and Fili on eagles shadowing the King.

Oin. Gloin. Dori and Ori. Nori. Bofur. Bombur. Bifur. Kili. Gandalf. And to Balin’s left, Bilbo, staring forward in terror at the fallen body of their leader. Balin glanced at Thorin again, unable to make out if he was breathing from this distance. Instead, he focused his gaze on Bilbo. So close, and yet so far.

~~~***~~~

 

It was at the foot of the carrock, all in the river, scrubbing their clothes, and unbraiding their hair for washing that Balin realized.

There might never be a better time.

Nothing was guaranteed in this life; not even tomorrow. They’d nearly died seven times the night before.

Courage, he assured himself, I can do this.

“Bilbo?” He asked after approaching the hobbit, who’d managed to strip several layers and remain just as covered as before. Puzzle box of a One, a riddle to tease apart.

Bilbo smiled up at him, “Yes, Balin?”

“We’re all taking advantage of the river to wash and unbraid before putting our braids back in for the road ahead,” Bilbo nodded, head tilted curiously, “Would you allow me to braid your hair?”

The other dwarves went noticeably quiet, but Balin forced himself to keep his gaze on Bilbo and his breathing even.

“Oh,” Bilbo responded, “but you don’t have braids in your hair, do you?” Balin froze as Bilbo’s fingers reached around his ear to scratch at the back of his neck. Many had noticed his abstaining, but it was for grief, not any shame. Not that Bilbo knew that of course, Balin reminded himself. “Why do you want to braid mine, if you don’t wear braids in yours?”

Bilbo looked adorably confused. And it wasn't a bad question.; it was a very fair question, in fact. And if any deserved the truth, it was his One. “My mother, and many of my kin fell when the dragon came. I haven't braided I since. I couldn’t bring myself to.”

Balin waited for censure, but Bilbo just nodded. “My mother passed shortly before I came of age. I stopped eating first breakfast then. I don’t think I’ve managed it more than three times since.” Bilbo fidgeted with his shirt sleeves, fussing before he said, “Braiding my hair,” he began. “What did you have in mind?” Bilbo seemed to have other questions, but he didn’t ask them.

Balin’s mouth went dry and his fingers burned with the familiar itch of adrenaline needing to be spent. “Warrior’s braids,” he listed, “and those befitting your station in the Shire. Plus one for the line of Durin, of course.”

Balin felt Thorin’s sharp gaze, but kept his own focused on the hobbit. He had every right to offer Durin braids to his One, and he’d take Thorin’s healing ass over his knee if he thought to stop him.

“Oh. I suppose I’ll look rather odd in them. Dwarven braids, that is.”

“Not at all,” Balin fought to appear calm but he knew his mask was slipping.

“My hair is thinner than yours, and curlier. It might not hold braids well. Are you sure?” Balin only nodded, “Then yes, Balin, once I’ve scrubbed the blood and dirt out, you can put those braids in my hair.”

Balin grinned broadly at the hobbit. The others started laughing and joking again, ribbing Balin in Khuzdul.

“He is your choice?” Thorin’s voice cut through, while Bilbo and the rest bathed.

“He is my One.”

“He is very brave.”

“Loyal too,” Dwalin added.

Balin nodded, “Mahal has truly blessed me.”

“When will the wedding be, brother?”

Balin frowned, “I suppose that depends. I remember him speaking of his parent’s summer wedding. I am unsure if that is Hobbit tradition, or simply when his parents wed.”

“Summer is ending soon,” Dwalin pointed out unnecessarily.

“I'll talk to him, after the braiding.”

“Better wash up,” Thorin teased, eyes tight with the pain his wounds were giving him.

“I’ll manage this old bear,” Dwalin encouraged. “Don’t worry. Clean yourself up for him, Balin.”

~~~***~~~

Bilbo had it right when he called his hair finer, curlier. He hadn't mentioned how soft it was though. Like silk in Balin’s fingers, cool from the river, and smooth as polished stones.

Balin fought a flush as he put in the main braids, honoring his One’s valor. Bilbo hummed, eyes shut in the sun, as Balin’s fingers worked.

Balin got lost in the rhythm of it, over, over, over, and over again the four strands wove seamlessly. It wasn't until he was halfway through the Durin heart line braid over Bilbo’s left ear that Balin nearly dropped his work and unravelled the whole thing.

“I suppose I should braid your hair after you finish? Or your braid if you prefer?”

Balin blanched. Did Bilbo mean to wed now? It is true summer was nearly over, but so quickly?

“If… If that is your wish, Bilbo,” He stammered, an unusual moment for him, but while his heart startled at the thought his mind ran over several reasons. Hobbits didn't live as long as Dwarves. Perhaps the time seemed too long to be without Balin?

But… Balin tied off the last braid and stepped back, fingers limp.

Bilbo moved a hand to his skull and felt the intricate braiding. “It feel beautiful. My thanks, Balin. You'll have to teach me how to do them, I’ve never braided hair before.”

Balin’s face went violently red. “Or course,” he choked out.

Bilbo sighed and stretched, cracking the knuckles of his fingers. Before reaching out and twining his fingers through the hair at the back of Balin’s head.

Fili wolf-whistled, before Gloin shushed him. Bilbo looked up self-consciously, and let the hair slip through his fingers. Balin tried not to sigh as Bilbo pulled back. “Another time?” He offered placatingly.

Bilbo nodded, showing Balin a small smile.

 

~~~***~~~

Another time didn’t occur until they were stood on the recklessly crafted wall. Balin took the moment to reweave Bilbo’s braids and offered his hair to Bilbo.

Bilbo spent a long minute running his fingers through Balin’s hair before he herd Bilbo ask, “Balin, what does it mean, for Dwarves, to braid another’s hair?”

A knife to the heart would have hurt less than the emotion Balin felt at that moment. “Bilbo?”

“Because, I am not a Dwarf, you see. And, well, it at first seemed as sort of… A way of marking me as one of the company. And well. That was wonderful. Then you blushed when I said I should braid yours and… well. Fill and Kill had made some remarks in Thranduil’s dungeons. And Dwalin keeps giving me threats and advice. Or, what I assume are threats and advice. No one else has ever said they’d shave my chin if I didn’t hammer the anvil for you. Whatever that means.”

Balin blinked at his one, Bilbo’s hands still in his hair. “Intent.” He swallowed thickly and continued. “It can mean many things, but I meant it as an offer of courting. Your offer, well. It was a wedding had you braided me; an offer of engagement when you did not.”

“I see.”

Balin’s heart dried to dust and crumpled to pieces. “Forgive me, Bilbo, I thought you knew.”

“Hmm. So you did. And now I do.” Then Bilbo began to braid.


End file.
